


Colors

by ShatteredIridescent



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Keith (Voltron), Artist Lance (Voltron), Eventual Romance, Fluff, Friendship, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Lance (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Mild Angst, Mild Angst that will get worse, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Lance (Voltron), POV Lance (Voltron), Pining, Slow Burn, Slow Burn-ish, This will make you cry at some point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 01:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16651345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredIridescent/pseuds/ShatteredIridescent
Summary: Lance's love for art was his anchor and his driving passion that kept his going. It was his sanctuary, one of the only things he was sure would always be in his life.He wasn't expecting to find another safe haven in the form of a boy with raven colored hair and a bloody nose.





	Colors

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been in my notes app for a couple of years. And Since Voltron is ending next month, thought I should finally make something outta this. 
> 
> Also, not all tagged characters show up in this first chapter.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy :)

Lance swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers twitching around the blue sketchbook he held close to his chest. His fingernail scratched the sticker on the front cover, ruining the blue faux leather he made an effort to keep clean for the past two years. He hated ruining it now after all this time, but his nerves were getting the best of him. He couldn’t help but scratch it. The lump in his throat wouldn’t go away and his eyes kept darting to every corner of the foreign street. He cursed his dead cellphone and himself for being too lazy to plug his phone in the socket.

 _“I might die here,”_ he thought to himself. _“And on a friday evening, too. This sucks.”_  
  
Okay, maybe dying was a _bit_ of a stretch. But considering  Daibazaal, neighborhood with the highest crime rates in Altea City, something like a robbery wasn’t off the table.

The word Daibazaal never left the recent crimes section of the newspaper. Even those kids from his _damned_ middle school knew to stay away from Daibazaal and anyone that lived there. It had become almost like a creepypasta, some were  scared to even utter the name of the infamous neighborhood. Mer told him her own stories about it, and like the idiot he was he believed them all.

In conclusion, he wasn't being dramatic because of some shit and giggle inconveniece. The only thing that kept him from completely losing his shit was the thirty dollars in his pocket, which he hoped would be enough to not get him beat up by a thug.

So if it was so dangerous, then why was he here?

Short answer; because he was an idiot.

Long answer; it’s because was an idiot with a secret.

Probably the dumbest thing about it was that it wasn’t even really a secret. His whole family knew how much he loved to draw, so much he wanted to get as good as Grandpa. They all knew how much he loved it and how hard he was willing to go.  It would be no surprise if he told them he decided to be mentored professionally to improve.

It wouldn’t be a surprise, but it would serve as a grim reminder to everyone that the best artist they all knew couldn’t help Lance. And not because Grandpa didn’t want to. So he went on with it, quietly. Told his mother he going to McDonalds with Pidge and Hunk after school.

He felt guilty, but he knew if he told Grandpa, the man would support him like he always does. His art inspired Lance and brought him joy, just like it did with others. What his grandfather painted was simply breathtaking and he too wanted to evoke inspiration in people, create something that brought awe and just even to the most critical eye.                                                                                                                                                         

Except all that right now was nothing but a dream, because Lance was still a fetus compared to those he aspired to be and had a lot more room for improvement. _A lot more room._

This was one of those dreams that couldn’t be achieved overnight, nor a week or even a few months. It took years of dedication and hard work. It's not like he was expecting to draw like someone with eight years of experience after only a year. He understood that this was a skill that couldn't ever really be perfected and that even artists in their prime always found room for improvement. Granted, Lance had improved a lot from when he first began practising, but he still produced less artwork that he was truly satisfied with than those that were bad or he just hated. And lately, he felt like he had hit a stand still with his progress. With everything going on, nothing he drew lately felt right. He grew more frustrated by each day.

He had gotten this far almost all on his own. Of course his Grandfather helped him get a head start and coached him a bit when he still could, but he did everything but baby him. He taught Lance the elements and fundamentals and sent him on his merry way. So he watched endless YouTube tutorials, drew from reference, practised his shading. Grandfather gave a lot of tips too, and Lance still remembers all of them He could continue to learn on his own, but right now, he was at a stand still and really needed help getting out.

But safe to say his hope dissipated into utter disappointment as quickly as he got the idea, and only grew with the hours he had spent googling 'cheap art class in Altea city' and then 'art class for the broke in Altea' on his laptop. The weird ads he got had nothing to do with what he searched. His eye twitched and his fingers pressed the keys harder every time he worded his searches differently. He had almost given up, declared himself a complete failure yet again.

Until he found the very same ad that led him to where he was now.

His first instinct was to close it, click on the previous page and forget he ever saw it. Because this art studio , though specifically for high schoolers and at a much more affordable price than anything else he’d found so far, was on the outskirts of Daibazaal, and was not worth it. But clearly, he’d done the exact opposite.

This was stupid, he realized that. Just as Daibazaal became the shit, the art studio could be very well have been torn to shreds like the rest of the district. Despite that, pictures provided by the site almost made him believe, hope that wasn’t the case. The red brick of the exterior, with the sign that read 'Altea Art' at the top, a picture of a wall that displayed art works done by students and of a man with white hair down in a ponytail, who apparently owned the place. There was also what he presumed to be the main hall, which was lined with easels. Lance could nearly smell the half-dried paint on the canvases. He wanted to grab one of the brushes from the plastic container on easel and paint the sunset that glimmered through the window of the studio in the picture. Or in his case, try and paint it.

It’s hard to believe now, but there was a time Daibazaal was the complete opposite of what it was now. The district had clean streets with small shops and plants that hung on lamp posts. The various apartment complexes looked cozy, and there were parks with the greenest grass and bright blooming flowers Lance could remember from his childhood. His family sometimes would even have picnics in one of them, right by a pond that connected to a lake nearby.

But that was before the water got infected with an unknown toxic substance and said park was closed down. The rest quickly followed when the riots that led to Daibazaal’s demise began. And now all that was left of the place were Lance’s memories of it.

So he let nostalgia contribute to this reckless decision. But as he walked through the torn streets, sketchbook clutched tightly to his chest, school backpack hanging behind and hoodie pulled over his head, the realization of how silly he was hit him with a wave of disappointment. It was stupid wishful thinking that Daibazaal wasn’t the hellhole it had been for years now. He wished he hadn't worn his white sneakers and cringed every time his feet hit the dirty pavement. Moreover, it seemed as if this was one of the shadiest parts of the former paradise, since there were barely any people. Just his luck.

But thanks to the dirty and filthy walls, it was easy to spot the colorful graffiti just a few blocks away from the address on Altea Art's site. At least Lance thought it was just mere graffiti, until he decided to step closer to one, and realized it was more than random rebellious splashes of color against the monotone background.

They looked quite old and worn out, paint beginning to chip off and color fading, but there was no denying the sheer beauty of them, despite their randomness. There was a fox, a bouquet of roses, a basket of oranges, a Willow tree with red leaves instead of green. The only pattern them was the color scheme, but by the art style, Lance could tell that they were drawn by the same person.

As much as he wanted to get closer, run his fingers over what looked to brush strokes, he came here to learn how to draw, not look at it. So instead he quickened his pace, and followed the last few directions on his navigator app provided.

It was run down and closed like he half expected it to be, the sign toppled over and broken, the red brick turned a dark brown color, mold growing on it. The large windows were muddy and covered with a thick layer of dust, so thick you couldn’t see anything through it. But he couldn’t bring himself to care about all that right now, because plastered over the dirty windows and brick was possibly the most beautiful mural Lance had ever seen.

Lance blinked twice to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, because there was no way he could be staring at a painting this gorgeous on this shitty building. Except, it was a painting, wasn’t it?. A painting of crimson poppy flowers against the dirty grey  of the wall, vibrant against the monotone background. It had such dimension to it Lance thought that it was a sticker rather than a painting. But upon stepping close enough to run his fingers along the edges and feeling the dried paint brush strokes, he realized that this was the real deal.  
  
He stepped back from it, staring up at it in awe. The detail in the shading and highlight looked to be drawn with such care, such love. This wasn't mere street art, it was a professional piece created by someone immensely talented. Someone Lance wanted to become someday. And in that moment, it barely mattered that he’d wasted his time, because this beautiful piece had relit the fire in his heart he had felt was dimming. He felt as if this was the very reason he had been pulled to this place, that he was meant to come here just to see this painting.

He shifted his sketchbook into one arm as he pulled out his phone with the other to snap a picture. He needed to prove to Hunk and Pidge he had actually seen this masterpie-

 

_Crash_

  
  
Before he could even blink, there was glass shattering everywhere, ricocheting off the pavement in front of him. Lance screeched and fell on his back, just as someone fell out the broken window and on tops of the broken glass.

Lance starred from his spot the ground at the scene before him. A body lying motionless in the middle of the street, their long hair covering their face and arm twisted at a weird angle. The store window he had fallen out of completely shattered.

"What the fuck," Lance whimpered. He tried to crawl backwards, but the sharp stab of pain in his hand made him gasp and grunt. He lifted said hand up to see a huge cut down his palm, blood already running down his brown skin and staining his hoodie.  
  
"Fuck fuck fuck no." This was exactly what he’d been afraid would happen.  
  
The body on the ground next to him moaned, rolling on their side away from Lance. They moved to grasp at their arm before screaming in what had to be pain.  
  
“What is wrong with you!?”

The voice was deep, coming from inside the building right from where the glass had shattered. It was dark inside and Lance couldn't quite make out their faces, but they were tall and looked muscled.

 

_Shit_

 

 

The body, which Lance could see was a boy, groaned some more and tried to get up. He leaned on his good arm only to collapse again. Lance just stared at him, paralyzed. What was happening?

One of the figures stepped closer, out of the shadows in the unlit room. His steps were loud and rough against the broken glass. He slowly came into view, ducking his head as he pushed out the broken window, the sunset rays falling on his face and putting his sinister grin on display. His face was covered in scars, one running across his grey colored damaged eye. He had sideburns and his sleeveless shirt exposed his hairy arms. Lance was frozen in place, his breaths short and high pitched. His brain told his to crawl away from his spot, far from this monstrous? man and this situation, but his body was locked in place with fear.

He jumped when the man’s eyes suddenly landed on him, his scowl deepening.

“And who are you?” he asked, eyes narrowing at Lance.

“I-” was all Lance could say before his throat locked up.

They growled, head snapping back to look  at the other boy.

“You little shit! Now you’re bringing your dumbass friends here?!”

He reached for the back of the boy’s black leather jacket, picking him up with ease and dangling him in the air. Before Lance could even blink, he threw his fist at the boy’s nose, whose head jerked back from the force of the punch.

“Stop this, Sendak!” the other voice cried from within the studio. “Just leave him alone!”

The boy grunted and coughed. His black hair covered his eyes, but Lance could see blood dripping down from his nose. He struggled against the man’s grasp, snarling and grunting.

The man’s eyes looked back at Lance and he eyed him. He dropped the boy to the ground and Lance’s heart sank as he walked over to him. He then crouched in from of Lance and grabbed his chin so he was staring right up at him. If Lance hadn’t forgotten how to speak, he would have screamed.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, his voice unemotional.

Lance felt his eyes water.

“Answer the question!” he boomed. This jump started Lance, and he was suddenly speaking.

“I-I-I was looking for the art studio,” tears streamed down his face.

The man-Sendak- narrowed his eyes even more. “The art studio.” he said blankly.

Lance nodded frantically.

“You expect me to believe that?”

His grip on Lance’s jaw tightened and Lance let out a strangled cry. His jaw was going to break.

“Sendak!” the voice cried.

“I swear!” Lance screamed. “I was just looking for this art studio. I don’t know anything!”

“Not even that dipshit?” Sendak nodded towards the boy.

Lance frantically shook his head. “No!”

Sendak stared at him with the same blank expression. He didn't let go of Lance, only seemed to study him, staring into his eyes for a long moment, like he was looking for something and couldn’t find it.

“If anyone else goes missing here, the authorities will have no doubt we are behind this,” the man from inside spoke. “Haven’t you caused enough of a mess already, you savage?”

Lance watched as Sendak’s face contorted into the most furious expression he had ever seen on anybody. Lance stopped breathing as Sendak seemed to contemplate his next action.

The relief was immediate on his jaw as the pressure ceased. Lance’s hand moved to cup his jaw.

“If I ever see you here again, this won’t end as well for you,” he spat at Lance. “Is that understood?”

Lance nodded. “Y-yes.”

“Now, get out of here before I change my mind. And don’t even think about calling the police.”

Lance nodded again heart thudding in his chest. He scrambled to his feet, shaking hands kneeling to pick up his sketchbook to hug it close to his chest. He turned turned around quickly, and began walking away. This was a horrible idea, and he had been stupid to come here. Why was he so dumb? God, his mom would have a heart attack if she heard about this.

He staggered in his white sneakers, going back in the direction he came back in. The sun reflected off the flower mural on the shop and Lance’s eyes stung. His backpack felt like it weighed a ton.

“You, however, will not that get away so easily.”

He had already turned the corner of the studio but stopped in his tracks at the sound of a loud thump. A pained moan followed.

The boy.

“I told you to leave him alone!” the other man shouted.

“Quiet!” Sendak snapped. “How many times are we supposed to repeat this? This stupid child doesn’t seem to understand how to mind his own business. It’s time we teach him a lesson.”

A cold shiver ran down Lance’s spine. His fingers dug deeper into the cover of his sketchbook and his knees trembled.

 

_Oh god, he was going to kill him._

 

Lance’s mind went blank again. He wasn’t thinking about as he spun on his heel and run back. He was being stupid, he knew it. He should just run away like he was told to, go home and forget this ever happened. Forget the boy and this thug, lie to his mother about the bruises blossoming on his jaw and the gushing wound on his palm. Forget the beautiful mural he admired less than half an hour ago. Forget he came to this stinking neighborhood. Forget how he wanted to be coached.

But he couldn’t do that. Because there was a kid his age in pain, alone and probably scared. He imagined leaving him there and never seeing him again, not because they would just never meet, but because he would be gone.

And that would be on Lance.

“Lay a hand on him and I swear-” the other man was stepping up of the window, and Lance only caught a glimpse of his long hair before he threw his sketchbook. It collided with Sendak’s face. He grunted, dropping the boy and falling onto the other man, toppling him over as well.

Lance cried as he hoisted the boy up by his hand, pulling him up with such force he fell back down. But Lance tugged on his arm again, and the second he was on his feet again, they ran.

“Wha-” it was the first time he’d heard the boy speak, but Lance didn’t pay attention to it.

Sendak tried to swat at the boy’s foot and pull him back, but Lance was faster. They were already out of his reach.

“I’ll kill you!” Sendak snarled. But it didn’t matter, because they were running fast in the direction Lance had come from, his hand holding the boy’s tightly. Nothing else mattered in that moment than this, them running for their lives. Sendak kept shouting after them, but they had gotten too far away for him to do anything, and the further his voice got the more Lance felt himself relax, despite them still running at full speed. He was finally safe after what felt like a really long time.

* * *

 

 

They continued this way until they were out of Daibazaal and more people were beginning to pop up on the street. He was tired and his leg muscles burned, so he slowed down to a steady jog, looking for a place to comfortably rest without prying eyes. The blood on his palm was beginning to dry and he was getting strange looks from casual passers  and onlookers.

He looked over his shoulder when he felt the boy come to a halt, making Lance stop as well. It was the first time he properly saw his face, or at least a part of his face behind his long dark bangs that had only gotten messier after running against the wind. Lance could make out an eye staring at him through the hair, and suddenly the uncomfortable feeling in Lance’s stomach was back.

The boy had a black hoodie on, with a strange white stain near its pocket. He had dark blue jeans and dark brown boots which looked to be too warm, even for the current autumn weather.

“Are you alright?” Lance asked. The boy just stared with his mouth slightly parted, blood dripping down his nose.

He suddenly pursed his lips hard. He pulled his hand from Lance’s, covering his mouth and lurching forward.

“Oh no no no no no,” Lance took him by the shoulders. “No, please no.”

He looked around for a trash can somewhere as people were starting to give them weird looks.

Seeing an empty alley up ahead, he pushed the guy towards it, nearly making him trip. The second they reached it, he jerked out of Lance’s grasp again, stumbling over to a trash can in the back corner of said alley. He threw off the lid and proceeded to vomit, coughing violently. The sound of the lid hitting the ground made Lance cringe, but boy didn't even flinch. His knuckles were white from how hard he held onto the top of the container.

Lance stood near him, observing him silently. His nose seemed to be bleeding more and looked a bit crooked even from the side. Maybe he was imagining, but his left shoulder looked to be not on the same level as the right. Lance could see tears pouring down his face as he coughed even more.

"I-uh," Lance swallowed, shifting in his spot awkwardly. "You alright? Need me to hold your hair back?"  
  
He moved closer, hand hovering over the boy’s disfigured shoulder, freezing in his tracks when the boy’s eyes shot up at him with a glare that could cut glass.  
  
"Stay the hell away from me," came his raspy and muffled reply. It almost sounded like a wounded animal’s growl.  
  
"Okay," Lance squeaked, hands shooting up in defense. "I'm just gonna stay right here. Just calm down, okay?"  
  
The boy’s eyes narrowed, and Lance swore he was going to bite him before another violent cough shook his his body into convulsion. Lance resisted the urge to gag at the smell.  
  
His body had only relaxed a few minutes later, and his knees finally gave out from underneath him and he slid to the ground, panting and forehead against the trash can. Lance could hear him whimpering, hand clutching his possibly dislocated shoulder.  
  
Lance sighed, biting his lip before crouching a bit and wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist, hoisting him up. The guy struggled a bit, but was much too exhausted to do much more. Lance put him in a sitting position on a box filled with books and old CDs, clicking his tongue when the boy nearly swatted his nose.  
  
"I said stay away from me." He tried and failed to kick at Lance’s knees.

"Are you like this towards anyone that tries to help you?" Lance raised an eyebrow. How old was this kid?  
  
"I don't need your help,” he hissed behind his bangs.

Lance raised his eyebrows. “Uh, I don’t mean to be that guy, but I’m pretty sure I saved your life like fifteen minutes ago.”

The boy seethed through his teeth at Lance. “I don’t care. Go away.”

“Wow, such gratitude,” Lance scoffed. He hadn’t done it for the glory  and he didn’t need any gratitude. But it was annoying and quite hurtful that after risking his ass and sacrificing two years worth of sketches rewarded him with nothing but rudeness from this complete stranger. He didn’t have to do any of this for him. He could have left him in the street right after he got to safety and went home. But here he was, trying.

“Can you at least stop hissing at me?” he was beginning to sound irritated. “I can’t help you if you keep trying to bite my head off. Just relax, dude.”

“Just leave me alone. Please."  
  
The plea was unexpected and Lance blinked at the unpleasant twist in his chest. He looked so small sitting on that box, reminding Lance of a small kitten in the rain.  Lance wanted to wrap him up in a blanket.  
  
"I can't leave you alone," Lance said firmly. "I won't leave you alone, not while you are hurt."  
  
The boy raise his head slightly at him. Lance could now see a dark colored eye peeking from behind the hair.  
  
"So I'm just- going to clean you up and bit then get you to a doctor after? I know I’m annoying you but… let me do this, please?"  
  
He was silent and still for long moment. But then his shoulders visibly relaxed and his let his head rest again the back of the wall. He didn't say anything, just looked at Lance. His bloody face didn’t bear any aggression, so Lance took that as an acceptance to his offer.  
  
"Alright, great," Lance sighed with relief, slinging his backpack off his shoulders and unzipping the middle compartment. He rummaged in it until he a pulled out an old handkerchief. It had been sitting in his bag for probably over a month, but right now he was just really glad he didn't throw it in his laundry basket. This was the only time his laziness was beneficial in anyway

He felt as if holes were being drilled into him. The boy was following his every move with those dark eyes. It made Lance incredibly self conscious about his movements.  
  
He cleared his throat. "I’m just going to wrap this up real quick, okay? Don't want to stain your clothes with more blood."  
  
He took the handkerchief and wrapped it around his cut palm. It was deep and would probably scar, but he didn't feel a lot of pain. There must still be a lot of adrenaline rushing through his veins.  
  
Tying the two ends of the fabric into a knot and tucking it in the fold, he gave it a squeeze just to make sure he hadn't wrapped it up too tight. The boy’s eyes were still on him.  
  
"What's your name,, by the way?" Lance asked awkwardly. "I’m getting tired of referring to you as 'boy' in my head." He opened his bag again, his hands digging around for the packet of tissues he made sure to always carry around.  
  
A beat of silence. "Keith."  
  
"Keith," Lance tested the name on his tongue absentmindedly. "Well Keith, think you can bring your head a bit closer? I need to clean the blood off your face.”  
  
Panic momentarily flashed the boys eyes before he narrowed them at Lance again. God, it was like they were going in circles. Lance was about to snap before Keith spoke.  
  
"I can't," he said, voice raspy. "My shoulder…hurts."  
  
It was dislocated, that much Lance could tell.  
  
"Guess I'll just have to get closer to you then," Lance said under his breath. And he did so, Keith stiffening once again.  
  
"Relax, I'm not going to hurt you.”

He brushed the black bangs out of his face, holding his hand in place to keep them from falling all over Keith’s forehead. He tried not the gag at the sight of his bloody face and vomit in the corner of his mouth. He cleaned it all though, his movements slow so he wouldn’t spook Keith. The boy’s dark stormy eyes darted anywhere but his face. He winced when Lance touched the bridge of his nose, his pointy nose that was so obviously crooked and so obviously broken. His hair felt greasy and his forehead was very sweaty. He was a mess, which only made Lance feel more sorry for him.

When he had cleaned the last trickle of blood from underneath his chin, Lance gingerly threw the tissue in the trash can.

"What are you even doing here?"

Lance jerked back a little when Keith's sharp gaze suddenly settled, dark eyes meeting Lance’s before shifting away.  
  
"Ugh, why are you so stubborn, I already-” Lance sighed, only to be cut off suddenly.  
  
"No," Keith shook his head and winced. "Here. In this neighborhood. Why the hell did you come here?"  
  
Lance blushed a little. The more he thought about it, the stupider his reason was. He had been a dumbass. Not that he cared what this stranger and slight douche thought of him, but he didn’t want to look like a complete wimp.  
  
"I was just,” Lance pouted and fiddled with his thumbs. “I just wanted to get art lessons.”

At first he thought Keith hadn’t heard him, because he just started and blinked once at him. Had he blacked out?

“Art lessons.” it wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” Lance chuckled a bit nervously. “I told that Sendak guy? Thought you heard-”

“I did. But that- that has to be a lie.”

Lance tilted his head. “How so?”

Keith's eyes shifted so he was looking straight into Lance's eyes.

“Because you have to be either crazy, or just sad and miserable to even think of walking on those streets.”

Lance was taken aback by the truth and bluntness of the statement. It was like this guy threw a knife from across the room and hit the very centre of the dartboard. There was nothing that he could tell him to prove what he said wrong.

A snort and a laugh bubbled in Lance's throat. Guess he reached the mad artist phase sooner than expected.

“I don't know about sad and miserable,” Lance chuckled some more. “But crazy sounds just about right.”

Keith eyed him some more, before scoffing and looking away.  
  
“You're an idiot.”  
  
"Yeah well, you’re here too. That doesn't make you Einstein either.”

He stood up up dusty of his jeans. It was dark out and he had to hurry home for dinner.

“Can you stand?” he asked.  
  
The crease between Keith's eyebrows deepened "I.."  
  
"Guess that's a no then,” Lance hummed.  
  
He shifted around so his back was turned towards Keith. "Hop on."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said, hop on. I'm going to carry you."  
  
“Carry- no!”

“What?” Lance raised an eyebrows. “It’s just a piggy back ride.”

“Just a piggy back ride?!” Keith exclaimed. “What are you, seven?”  
  
Lance shrugged. "It's either this or bridal style. Pick your poison."  
  
Keith didn't move at first, but then there was shifting, a pained groan and Keith was literally falling on his back. His face rested in the crook of his shoulder, making Lance blush a bit at the proximity.  
  
"Woah, take me out on a date first maybe," he said with the smoothest voice he could manage. It was probably all in his head, but he swore he felt Keith's cheek get warmer.  
  
"Not. A. Word," Keith hissed next to his face. His left arm wrapped around Lance's collar bone, hand digging into his shoulder. It hurt a bit, but Lance didn't pay much attention to it.  
  
He reached out to grab Keith's thighs, hoisting him up high on his back. Then he slowly rose off the ground, stumbling a bit before finding his balance. To his surprised, Keith wasn't as heavy as he thought he would be, but not very light either. And Lance could feel his toned thighs through his jeans.  
  
"Good thing the hospital is close by. You weigh as much as an elephant."  
  
“Shut up," Keith said weakly, closing his eyes.  
  
And so he carried him out the alley and onto the street. Not a lot of people were around, and those that were just gave them wired looks as Keith hung his head down. Lance kept grinning sheepishly, wishing there was a way for him to run faster and get out of here before someone accused him of kidnapping this boy. The hospital wasn't too far of, but at their pace it would take over an hour to get there. It was already quite dark, and he had told his parents he wouldn’t be out this late. Shit.  
  
On the bright side, Keith rested against Lance's back without any disturbance. He was really quiet and Lance thought maybe he was asleep. Either way, he wasn't a bother to carry around. His black jeans were really warm though, and Lance  felt as if he was sitting next to a furnace. But other than that and the slight growing pain in his back, it was fine. Lance carried him through the street then turned at a junction which led to the canal the hospital stood alongside of.  
  
The canal was a bit of a wasteland, nothing but cars zooming by on the road next to it and the dry grass that stretched along its length. There were benches spread out a couple of yards from each other too.  
  
By the time he was halfway to the hospital, his mind was beginning burst at its seams from the silence. The only sound was the crunch of the ground underneath his soles as he stepped and Keith’s hot breathing against his neck.  
  
"Hey," he spoke up. "You there?"  
  
“...”

“Okay yeah, dumb question,” Lance mentally kicked himself. Why was this so hard?

“You notice how cold it's been getting lately? Like I know it's the middle of October, but like it's usually not this cold this time around, you know? Think that means winter will be really cold this year?”

“...”

“Hmm yeah, you probably aren't even a little but chilled. My back feels like it's on fire.”

“...Are you trying to make small talk?”

“Yeah,” Lance shrugged. “It's not like there's much else to do. Might as well get to know each other some more.”

“But why?”

“Why what?”

“Why get to know each other? It's not like we are ever going to speak to each other after this.”

Lance couldn't help the slight feeling of rejection that swelled up in him.

“I know that,” he sighed. “But don't you think that's exactly why we should? We only get this one chance, a once in a lifetime opportunity. Why waste it?”

“So what, you talk to every stranger you meet?”

“But you aren't just any stranger though. I've never even heard of gangster boys turning into damsels,” Lance grinned over his shoulder.

He tried not to snort at the strangled noise that Keith made. “Take that back you shit!”

“Where is the lie though?”

“Everywhere! I'm not a freaking thug or damsel in distress.”

“I'm literally carrying you you right now. I beg to differ.”

“Ugh,” he scoffed. “I can't believe this is happening.”

The blue eyed boy giggled and Keith attempted to kick his thigh. After a few more snarky remarks, they fell into comfortable silence. It still felt slightly awkward, but at least Lance wasn't out right nervous. He was still weary and kept wondering what this boy was thinking. He still had his iron grip on Lance's shoulder.

“So which side of the coin are you?” he asked wearily. “The crazy, or the sad and miserable?”

He felt Keith tense behind him.

“Ugh,” Lance mentally slapped himself. “Sorry. Personal question.”

He was sure he wouldn’t get a reply from him, until Keith fidgeted and Lance felt him squeeze the hand on his shoulder into a fist. A long moment later, he finally replied.

“None,” he whispered. There was something really sad in his tone. “I’m off that spectrum.”

Lance wasn’t sure whether to pry further, but his curiosity was getting the best of him.

“What do you mean by that?”

Keith was silent yet again for a long time. It wasn’t uncomfortable, it was clear that he was trying to find the right words for what he had to say. Lance just waited patiently, revelling in the feeling of the soft night breeze against his sweaty face.

“Because I’m the dark matter that creates the crazy and miserable.”

Lance blinked, taken aback completely.

“You don’t really mean that.”

“Except I do,” Keith stated firmly. “I cause all kinds of shit, even to complete strangers like you.”

Lance opened his mouth to argue, but the cut that still burned his hand proved him otherwise.

“I kept telling you to leave me alone, but you don’t listen,” he sighed. “Why help me get away? Why carry me all this way? Are you that self destructive that you would risk your well being for a fuck up like me?”

This would have been the angriest speech towards Lance that he’d ever heard if Keith didn’t sound like he was falling asleep. It was all so surreal, Lance wondered if he himself was dreaming. How could this boy just say things like that so calmly, like it was just a simple statement, a concrete fact?

"I like art."

‘‘...What?’’  
  
He swallowed as felt Keith lean forward on his shoulder to look at him. He could see the crease between his eyebrows from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t resist the urge to turn his head and look at him. As expected, he looked like Lance had uttered complete gibberish, which, to be fair, he had. But there really was no going back on this now, so he might as well roll with it.  
  
"I like art," he repeated more boldly. "I always have. When I was little, I would just look at the pretty drawings in all of my books, instead of reading them like I was supposed to."  
  
He chuckled fondly at the memory, Keith’s eyes still on him.  
  
"I drew sometimes too, but I was really bad at it when I was little, so I just stopped and didn't try anything for years. But then last year….I did. I remembered how much I wanted to learn how to draw, so I started learning. And it sucked, because I couldn't do anything right. I was ass…until I finally I drew a sketch I actually felt proud of…and…"  
  
His eyes met Keith's again, and he couldn't help the soft smile that spread his face.  
  
"So yeah, you might feel like a failure, and maybe you really are one. And there might be hundreds of bad sketches and drawings and paintings in your life. But…if you give up now, you won't ever draw that perfect one, that one that will finally be the light at the end of the long tunnel, that one that will finally make all the pain and tears worth it...the feeling of pure and utter happiness when you worked for something so hard."  
  
Lance swore Keith stopped breathing.  
  
"You know that feeling, right?" Lance asked softly.  
  
Keith nodded slowly, looking dazed. "Yeah. I think I do."  
  
"Then let that be your only focus, your only goal," he placed his hand on Keith shoulder, and the other boy jumped a little.  
  
"Do it for yourself. For your happiness, for the people who want to see you happy, even if it hurts. Don't let anything else get in your way. Ever."  
  
He hoped that Keith could feel all this sincerity and hope. Hoped.  
  
"I know I don't know you, and we will likely never see each other ever again. But...can you promise this stranger that?"  
  
And suddenly, the storm within Keith's eyes was gone. The anger and sadness vanished, and there was only confusion and another undecipherable emotion in those dark purple eyes, so tranquil and relaxed as they looked into Lance's blues.  
  
He nodded slowly. "Okay."

With a warm smile, Lance turned his head forward, his eyes on the moon right above them.

His day really did go as badly as it could've gone. He got jumped and nearly beat up and now he was carrying this stranger and giving the guy pep talks on life Lance knew little of. He was sweaty and his back was really hurting from the weight of Keith. His feet would probably be killing him tomorrow. This was all supposed to suck and Lance should be cursing the very ground he was currently stomping on. But strangely enough, he wasn't sure if he would turn things around if he could. Because all of this… just felt wholesome for some reason. Despite the initial awkwardness, he felt like he was made a connection with this boy. This boy that was sad and the boy Lance just tried to make feel better. This boy that really needed someone to talk to and Lance for some reason was really glad that that person got to be him. He pointed at the likely prospect of this being all useless, for they will likely never see each other again. Either way, he was pretty sure Keith would never forget this evening, just like he wouldn’t.

 

* * *

 

From where he let Keith down, right across from the entrance to the ER, it didn't look as crowded as Lance thought it would be. Sure, it wasn't like there weren't any patients, but definitely not chaotic. Which was a good thing, for Keith would be treated pretty quickly that way. Maybe he could even wait for him if it wouldn't take long. He missed dinner anyway.

“You better head inside,” Lance said. “There aren't a lot of people in today. Let's go in before an ambulance brings in a bicycle crash victim or something.”

He moved to grab Keith hand to lead him in, but the other boy pulled away.

Lance's eyebrows knitted together. “What’s wrong now?”

“I'm don't need to go in there,” Keith shook his head. “I've got family that works in the surgical department. He can stitch me up.”

“Oh,” Lance blinked.

“Yeah.”

Lance shifted on his feet. “Cool.”

Keith nods not looking at him.

The sickening silence is back and Lance doesn't know what else he can say, or if he should say anything.

“I'm really grateful for what you did today,” Keith says quietly, eyes still cast away. “Though it was stupid, you really helped me out.”

Lance smiled. “It was nothing. Anyone would've done the same.”

Keith snorted.

“Okay, maybe not,” Lance chuckled. “But you know what I mean.”

What looked like it might be a smile ghosted Keith's face. There was a strange emotion on his face- one of hesitance.

“And about the whole stranger thing-”

There was a vibration in his pocket followed by a muffled yet jumpy music beat.

“Oh,” Lance reached for his pocket. He checked the caller ID.

“Shit,” Lance held up a finger. “Hold that thought, alright? My mom's calling me.”

“Your mother?”

“Yeah,” Lance nodded quickly. “I kinda missed family dinner. Hold on a sec alright, I need to pick this up.”

He slid the accept call button on the screen and held it up to his ear.

“Mom!” he exclaimed and rubbed back of his neck.

 _“Lance,”_ his mother’s voice was stiff and tired. _“Where are you? Have you kids eaten already?”_

“I-I’m done, yeah,” he turned away from Keith, trying not to laugh nervously. “We are heading out in a few.”

 _“Oh,”_ there was a pause. “ _Good. That’s good baby.”_

Lance frowned. “Is everything alright? Is grandpa okay?”

_“He’s...fine. I just...want you home, Lance. Please.”_

Lance’s chest tightened. “Yeah, I’ll be home soon. Don’t worry. See you soon.”

He cut the call before she could say anything more. And despite how crazy the evening had been, he had forgotten about what was going on at home. A part of him regretted having going back to it. He felt guilty for it.

He sighed. The longer he spent out the more jumpy his mother would be.

He turned back to the boy standing behind “Hey, Keith-”

But there was no one.

Just as suddenly as he appeared, he was gone.

“Of course,” Lance scoffed, a sudden bitterness in his mouth.

  


**Author's Note:**

> This took me way too longer to write than it should have lol. But I made it, phew.
> 
> Keith is a little angst ball and Lance is suffering. But don't worry, It will get better...and worse >:)
> 
> Shout out to me awesome beta for helping this thingy come to life.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Author's Tumblr: prismgloww  
> Beta's Tumblr: crystalpallete


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